On The Way Down
by Danni-2005
Summary: Sam's lost her mind. Danny's trapped in a world beyond his comprehension. The strange thing is the one link between them is an empty notebook.
1. Prologue

**_On The Way Down_**

**Summary: Sam's lost her mind. Danny's trapped in a world beyond his comprehension. The strange thing is the one link between them is an empty notebook.**

**Rating: PG-13 for mature themes and language.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom, Butch Hartman does. I do not own On The Way Down, Ryan Cabrera does.**

**Prologue**

**Sick and tired of this world.**

April 24, 2005

Dear world at large,

I don't expect you to understand this. I don't expect anyone to. But if I don't write this down I'm going to convince myself he never existed. Never lived, never breathed, and never was. I can't do that. He diserves better than that. My name is Sam Manson. And my best friend was, or is, Danny Fenton. We had been best friends forever since kindergarten. Best friends through everything. And nothing could change that, me becoming a goth, Danny becoming a ghost. Nothing.

But suddenly one day that I'll never forget, Danny just ceased existing. He didn't come to school, so I called his family. They didn't know what I was talking about, didn't know who I was. I heard the mother of my best friend tell me she didn't have a son. That she never had. I called Tucker. He didn't know what I was talking about either. Said he hadn't talked to me since second grade. I just sort of slowly lost my mind. I can't explain how it happened, all I remember was sitting in the park we met at screaming his name and crying my eyes out.

Now I'm here. Cedar Pines Recovery Home for Mentally Distressed Girls. That's what I am; distressed. But I think I have a right to be. One of the greatest people I have ever known is nothing but a memory. And now all I get from everyone everyday is that I have an imaginary friend. That I've regressed to a sort of five-year-old mentality. God, I wish that was true. That I was five again and Danny was still my best friend with the dorky smile and stupid looking haircut. I'm in counseling three times a day. I have a room mate named Katie who thinks she sees demons. That's what I am to everyone else. That little kid off The Sixth Sense who can see dead people. Except my person never existed.

So I've taken one of those composition notebooks that everyone encourages me to write in. I'm writing this to myself so in a few years when they've brainwashed me, I'll have this to remind me I didn't make him up. It all comes down to one simple thing:

Danny Fenton did exist. He had blue eyes and dark hair. He had a dorky smile and a melt-your-heart grin. He always wanted to be an astronaut. His favorite food was Kraft Macaroni and Cheese with hotdogs in it. His birthday was March 22 and his favorite color was red. He was clumsy and stubborn to a fault. He could always make me laugh no matter how bad I felt, just by singing _I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts_. He got me a music box for my seventh birthday because he said I needed to start acting like a girl. I kissed him when we were eleven and we promised to never talk about it again because we wanted to be friends forever. I was one of the first people he told when a lab accident turned him into a ghost. He was the sweetest person in the world and will always be the first boy I ever loved even if I'd die before I'd tell him that.

That's why this has to go down on paper. Even if it makes no sense to anyone but me. Cause, maybe, there's a reason I can remember even if no one else can. And maybe that's why I'm here. Living without him, without everything. All I can do is hope I never forget, because it's all I have. It's all I'll ever have.

In memory,

Sam Manson


	2. Chapter One

**__**

On The Way Down

Summary: Sam's lost her mind. Danny's trapped in a world beyond his comprehension. The strange thing is the one link between them is an empty notebook.

Rating: PG-13 for mature themes and language.

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom, Butch Hartman does. I do not own On The Way Down, Ryan Cabrera does.

Prologue

Sick and tired of this world.

Entry 2,

Well, World at Large, it has been a horrendous week. Katie (remember my psychotic room mate) stole my journal so now the running joke of my ward is my imaginary boyfriend. Isn't that a blast? Apparently I'm a psychotic lesbian who dreams up imaginary men in my spare time. Who knew? I sure didn't. I'm enjoying every gosh-darn hilarious moment of it.

So, I am going to stop using my-friend-who-never-existed's name. From now on, he will be known as 'The subject'. Ya wanna know why, World at Large? Because at the moment, it's too painful to hear his name over and over again as the punch line of jokes. It's already hard enough to tell fact from fiction in this loony bin. I'm not going to make it harder for myself.

I know that didn't make much sense. I mean, what difference does it make if I refer to the subject by his name or not? To be honest, I'm not sure. I really didn't expect it too. But no ones going to read this. So how much does it really matter? Does it really matter that sometimes I'm so upset that I cry myself to sleep? Does it matter that sometimes I'm so mad at him for leaving that I can't even think straight, let alone speak? At the moment, I can't see how it does. But in the long run, does it matter?

Not especially, anyway. But that's not the point. The point is that no matter how cruel the other mentally incompetent girls around this dump are, no matter how much what they say stabs at me, I can't let them know. If they know how much it hurts to hear their jeers, they win. And I can't let that happen. Cause every time I do, all I can think is that I'm all that's left of the subject and the subject never gave up. The subject wouldn't ever let anything bet him. So I can't either.

And even though I'd never admit it to any of the other girls, I miss him. I miss the way he smiled. I miss his quirky little grin. I miss the way he said the stupidest things at the most inappropriate times. That way he was always so infuriatingly dense that I wanted to strangle something. (Preferably him.) But, then again, that's all a mute point now.

Smile, life's short and we all die alone. The subject used to hate when I said that. He would say that I needed to stop being depressing, that he dealt with enough death on a day to day basis. That sentence was always followed shortly by that disappointed four-year-old put that he did so well. You wanna know something? I'd never tell him this but he looked exactly the same as when we met when he did that. Ya know, those things that make you feel like 'it's been forever' and 'it hasn't been that long' at the same time. Did that make any sense, at all?

I hate how this has become my life. I hate everything about this sicko place. I hate the way we can't decorate our rooms. I mean, they can't give me a thumbtack! After, all what if I slit my wrist with it. Gosh… I hate the way everything's white and reeks of disinfectant. I hate the way everyone thinks they have a right to know every thought that goes through my head. Heck, half the time _I_ don't even know what the crud I'm thinking. How am I supposed to tell somebody? Yeah right, like I'd want to. I hate the way we have a therapy session twice a day. I hate the way I'm just a case number to some shrink. I know I hate everything. But that head-doctor I'm supposed to talk to tops the list.

The key word in the previous sentence is 'supposed to'. Just clarifying in case you missed it. I don't talk to her. I look around at the floor tiles. They're some ort of ivory-colored tile with black flecks in it. They seem to cover every floor in this place. I bet they got a discount for buying in bulk. Why am I even writing like someone is reading this? I think this place is getting to me.

They're coming to take me away, haha! That was a Doctor Demento song that Tucker used to sing all the time. I wonder; If Tucker and I haven't talked since first grade, how come I know that song? It makes my head hurt to think about it. I wish I could find some picture of all of us together but I kept them all in this box on a shelf in my closet. We called it the "Superstar Box" It was a joke cause we were decorating it and The subject wrote 'superstars' on it as a joke about preppy girls. But when I went to get it, (ya know, to convince myself I'm not crazy) it was gone. I would say that's weird but ninety percent of this stuff is weirder than a stupid missing photo box.

It's getting really late so I'm going to stop writing to myself about nothing I don't already know. I don't even know why I'm writing this down. Maybe I think it'll bring him back. Maybe I think it'll erase this whole missing relationship with tucker. Maybe I'm not thinking at all. All I know right now is I have a geometry assignment that I need to finish. So I may write more later. Maybe.

****

Who all thought I'd given up on this story? Hehe. I just had to figure out a way to write this that I liked. Now that I've figured that out this should alternate updates with My Immortal. Fun, huh? Anyways, Huggles to: Hwoarangsguardie, Terrasina Dragonwagon, CHEENAMI Danny, Janus-Wolf, Angeliz, Stormtracer, GMGIrl, Nakira Ayame Outsuno, Snow Owl Queen, GMGirl, The Fuzy Llama, Airie, Cat o'thWind, Mr. Delmont, Freed Kyes, moondragon-1001, Ghostey, RainbowSerenity, Moody Maud, CoLdPLaYeR813, cheerin4danny, Medisti, MayB, The Cheryl One, Mrs. Granger-Weasley, HyperKat, Sakura Scout, Spice of Life, RavenForever, and StarStar16. Hope you even remember this story!


	3. Chapter Two

_**On The Way Down**_

**Summary: Sam's lost her mind. Danny's trapped in a world beyond his comprehension. The strange thing is the one link between them is an empty notebook.**

**Rating: PG-13 for mature themes and language.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom, Butch Hartman does. I do not own On The Way Down, Ryan Cabrera does.**

**Chapter Two**

**Tripping over myself, going nowhere.**

Entry 3,

Hola World at Large!

Gosh just typing that made me miss freshman Spanish. True, we all barely passed and can hardly speak in full sentences. Yo no recuerdo nada. Sigh. I remember how flustered Danny got when just purely coincidentally the teacher had asked Danny to tell Paulina she was very pretty and he couldn't remember the word for 'pretty'. Which is 'linda', (by the way.) It's really weird in hindsight what you remember. It's the large outlines and the tiny details. It's the blatantly obvious and the tiny unimportant. But life is weird to begin with so I don't know why that surprises me.

I'm on drugs now. It's a pretty little injection of this clearish, amber-tinted liquid. It's some experimental drug to help me sleep. I had a nightmare, which I really don't feel like thinking about long enough to write it down. Besides I'm sure I'll remember it, as much as I don't want to. I woke up screaming around four, maybe four-thirty, last night. Katie was being cranky cause I woke her up. Poor baby. Maybe she needs a nap or a diaper change. Well, basically that's along the lines of the comment I made. That set her off and she said I could go back to bed and have nasty fantasies about my made-up boyfriend.

Anyway, I flipped her off so she hopped up and shoved me. I don't exactly remember retaliating but I'm sure I did cause it escalated into a full fledged, out-for-blood fight. The night nurse had to come and break it up. Poor Katie never stood a chance. Her left eye is swollen shut and, to tell the truth, I really don't feel sorry at all even though I told her I was when I was forced to. But Katie knows that too. Maybe if she wasn't such a prep and could deal with reality I could stand her. Of course, who am I to talk about dealing with reality?

So, I got prescribed some sort of new experimental drug that they invented to work on new drugs from trauma patients. Ya know, like rape victims and disturbed soldiers that are losing there minds. I'm considered a trauma patient now, I guess. Not exactly happy with it, but I can see where their coming from. If it'll get me enough sleep that I can get through the night without waking up screaming, I'm willing to try it. I don't mean to sound desperate, but that's what I'm becoming. Does that sound totally wack or what?

You know, we always made fun of Jazz for being a mini-therapist, and that she was exactly like all those horrible shrinks. Guess what? We were wrong. Not that that's any new concept. We were wrong a lot, but sitting there in that office with that woman reminds me of it daily. That bored look in her eyes makes me sick. At least Jazz was interested. Actually more than that, she was concerned.

Someone just ceased existing and all that lady can think about is what time does she need to pick up her perfect little son and daughter from private school. I'm sure she drives a hummer or some other SUV sucking all the resources out of our valuable environment. Blasted carnivore!

But anyway, I wonder how new this drug is. The night nurse had never heard of it before and she seems to be the medicine nut around here. I'm just kidding. It's just that the majority of meds around here are doled out around lights out. I don't like how they just throw a master switch somewhere and the lights go out without warning.

I don't know why but I always figured recovery homes would be afraid to leave us in the dark for ten hours a night. Where they can't stare at us, can't monitor every move we make. I mean we can't have razor's to shave our legs because we could slit our ankles but we can sit in the dark for ten hours. Where if we were silent enough, we could creep out of this room and to the bathroom and slit our wrist on the jagged part that you use to tear of the toilet paper.

A girl named Ali did that a few months before I was dragged here. She bleed to death before anyone found her. Katie was telling me on my first night here that in that stall you can actually see the grey mortar between the yellow-brown tile turned darker where her blood sat stagnant for hours before anyone found her body. But I chalked the whole thing up to 'scare the new girl' tactics. But I've heard of Ali several times since then.

She was the ridiculed one before me. Everyone is constantly reminding me that if she hadn't killed herself that I would have been off the hook. Not really, I think I could have been her friend. Because there would be no way under normal circumstances I'd talk to girls like Katie. At her old high school she was made fun of but here she had seniority so she turns around and repeats the things that always made her feel so horrible. I hate people who can't learn life's lessons.

So, I'm done writing for tonight. I have to go get my injection soon and I need time to hide the journal before Katie comes back from dropping off her finished American Lit homework and getting her meds. So until next time, World at Large. Let's hope the experimental shot doesn't make me grow an extra head or something. Time to go shoot myself up! Just kidding, someone else will do it for me.

**Chapter Two, fun fun. Ah, we are beginning to get plot; even if you can't tell it yet! Hope your enjoying it. Here's a shout-out to my awesome fans: kitty00240, Ryo's destiny, Mr. Delmont, Terrasina Dragonwagon, Stormtracer, Divagurl, Hwoarangsguardie, Janus-Wolf, cheerinchick88, WormmonABC, Sarehptar, Sakura Scout, Spice Of Life, Reluctantdragon, MayB, YAY!!! Chibi Millenia Phantom, The Fuzy Llama, RainbowSerenity, RavenForever, Mrs. Granger-Weasley, and StarStar16. Hope I didn't disappoint!**


	4. Chapter Three

_**On The Way Down**_

**Summary: Sam's lost her mind. Danny's trapped in a world beyond his comprehension. The strange thing is the one link between them is an empty notebook.**

**Rating: PG-13 for mature themes and language.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom, Butch Hartman does. I do not own On The Way Down, Ryan Cabrera does.**

**Chapter Three**

**Waiting, suffocating, no direction.**

World at Large,

You won't believe how long I sat there staring at the page wondering if I should write this down. I mean, what if I am going crazy? This would be like a signed confession to that wonderful fact. But I want to remember it even if it was a dream, or a nightmare. I'm not quite sure which to call it. I blame that injection, but I'm not telling anyone. 'Cause if they take me off it, then I may not see him again.

I don't know what time I went to sleep, probably before eleven cause that's usually what time Katie starts snoring. So it was before that. I don't remember how it started but I do remember running from something, I couldn't tell you what it was. But then I got chased into this dark room and the door got locked. I know this sounds like a generic, B-rated horror movie, but it's what happened. And then I hear breathing. I wasn't really scared. There wasn't anything going on that hadn't happened loads of times when we were ghost hunting. (Though, then usually Tucker and Danny were locked in the room with me.) And that's when it happened.

I decided to go wandering around looking for an exit. I know, not bright, but I am not responsible for stupid decisions made by dream Sam. Anyway, so I'm wandering around in this pitch black room, arms stretched out, like a total idiot. And I keep walk around till I trip over something. I scream and the thing gasped. I landed flat on my face and scraped the bottom of my right cheek.

So I'm lying there, trying to figure out if I broke anything. (Another thing I frequently had to do ghost hunting.) And suddenly there's this hand on my back. I screamed again and the thing shushed me. So what did I do? I screamed louder. I mean, I'm not going to cooperate with whatever it was. Yeah, "Excuse me, victim, could you be quiet?" Oh I'm sorry, Mr. Demon-monster-thing, how inconsiderate of me!

Well so anyway the thing grabs me and makes me sit up. And I'm struggling of course so I kick it and it backs of. That threw me for a moment. I mean what kind of monster in a nightmare backs off after you kick him once? A pretty pathetic one, that's for sure. So I paused for a moment. I bit my lip for a second and asked for some reason, "Who's there?"

There wasn't an answer. I don't know if I was expecting one or not, honestly. I just asked. I don't know what I was thinking. Well, actually I wasn't thinking. There's the honest truth. But suddenly there was this light. I threw my arm over my eyes, but it still hurt to see light that fast without warning. So I'm sitting there with my eyes covered so if the thing wants to kill me I'm a sitting duck.

But nothing happened. Oh, believe me, I sat there for forever waiting for it to. My eyes slowly adjusted and I took my arm down. And sitting across from me was this crumpled form. The first thing I noticed about it was how sickly thin it was. You could make out the bones in the neck and it's arms were so twiggy that it was gross. I mean, I've seen anorexics before. There's quiet a few of them here, but this was more like seeing a third world child than an anorexic.

His hair was matted with blood and dirt. It was then I crawled over next to him. It was this felling of pity that made me do it, that heavy feeling in the pit of your stomach. Like that feeling that you get when you see a mom at K-mart scream and grab her kid by the elbow. You feel like you need to do something, you just don't know what.

There was a dirt floor in the cell he was locked in, I remember that. But nothing else about the scene is coming back to me. I can't even tell you what kind of light source it was. I really didn't care. I mean, it was a dream. I'm actually amazed I remember as much as I do. But what I do know is that I totally know the boy that was staring back at me.

I would recognize Danny anywhere but it was the pain that came with realizing that was who it was that surprised me. It was killing me to see him that way, even if it was only a dream. Or nightmare, which is more likely. So now not only do I have to be the only one that remembers him. The drug that is supposed to be making this easier is making it worse. Either that or the drug doesn't work and this is something I created on my own.

All I know was the haunted look in his eyes scares me. His face was all cut up and bruised, like he was being beaten badly. And his right cheekbone had been re-shaped slightly. Like it was broken or had been broken. It wasn't my Danny. My Danny was always smiling, even when it hurt. He would always tell me that it wasn't that bad. And to top it all of this Danny had to ask me who I was. _That_ is not my Danny. I hate this drug.

**_Yay! New chapter. I hope you all liked it. Here's to my awesome fans: Stormtracer, RainbowSerenity, The Fuzy Llama, Miss Ginny, Ok, Sarehptar, Ryo's destiny, Hwoarangsguardie, Miah The Storm Wolf, WormmonABC, Cat o'thWind, Spice of Life, StarStar16, Yayfulness, Mrs. Granger-Weasley, MayB, Fox of Light, Sakura Scout, The Angel of Anarchy, Terrasina Dragonwagon, Chibi Millenia Phantom, and Divagurl277. You guys are the most awesome fans ever!_**


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